Sing, O Muse
by Nightarcher210
Summary: A simple story of girl gets sucked into the past, meets desert boy, and doesn't quite fall in love. Her only problem now is figuring out how to get home... and maybe saving the world in her spare time.
1. So Not in Arizona Anymore

**A/N: **So, hi everyone. I've never written a Mummy fic before, and I wasn't actually planning on writing one. But then the idea for this popped into my head. I think it'll get funnier, but I'm not positive, so don't hold me to it. If a few people review, I'll post another chapter (WARNING: Postings may be extremely erratic and happen at times when sane, healthy people are asleep.) I have no idea where this is going, so suggestions are welcome and will be read with gusto.

**A/N # 2:** I read this over reposted it because of the numerous technical errors and just plain stupid stuff that I found. It should be smoother now.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own nuthin', 'cept for a couple DVDs and my (as yet unnamed) main character. She has a name, I just want to wait to reveal it.

Enjoy!

**So Not in Arizona Anymore**

"Ugh… that _hurt_," I groaned, rubbing my head where the girl had elbowed me. She'd been huge—hit me square in the temple, just when I was coming down from a sweet header to Allison, one of my teammates. I was hoping like hell that the ref red-carded her and trying to sit up when I realized that the soccer field had gone really quiet all of a sudden. I reached out a hand and touched the ground, then pulled it back with a gasp of pain. I was lying on hot sand, which certainly hadn't been there when I fell. I sat up and opened my eyes, squinting against the bright yellow light.

My stomach fell out from under me when I looked around. Rolling sand dunes stretched out in every direction, and not a soul was in sight. I swallowed dryly and brushed some of the grit out of my hair, which promptly fell out of its hasty bun and onto my neck. I could feel sweat dripping down my back uncomfortably, so I pulled my hair into a quick braid that would last longer than the bun and draped it over one shoulder. Suddenly, keeping the thick, black locks long seemed like a really stupid idea, but there was nothing I could do about it.

I stood up slowly and, when I didn't collapse from a concussion (like I said, that girl had been a friggin' Goliath), started walking up the nearest sand dune. Small particles began working their way into my sneakers, but there was no way I was going to walk barefoot in that heat. This wasn't the kind of desert I was used to—I'd been raised in Arizona, in the dry hills of the Sonoran Desert. I'd spent a fair amount of time in the Mojave, too, but neither had sand like this. This was the beach-like stuff that you only see in the Middle East and places like it. At least the heat was something I was used to. I guess running all those drills outside wasn't going to be completely wasted on indoor soccer.

Sand slipped from under my feet as I moved, pulling me back down half a step for every one I took, so it took me a fair amount of time to reach the peak of the dune. When I did, I nearly cried, but saved it, knowing that I wouldn't have any water for a very long time.

The same bland yellow sand was all I could see, mile after mile of tall dunes. There was no frugal vegetation like in the Sonoran, no sharp mountains to break the monotony, and absolutely no sign of some sort of oasis that I could get to easily. While I stood there, contemplating my certain doom and wondering just how in God's name I'd gotten out there, the sand shifted out from under me. I slip-stepped my way down the other side of the dune and land face-first on the ground. It took a second to register, but I was up on my feet again an instant later, crying out at the heat. Shaking, I sank to my butt and started whimpering quietly. I wasn't supposed to be there. I should have been at my game, cheering Allison for making a goal. Instead, I was trapped in some sort of pseudo-nightmare that felt so real it hurt.

I'm not sure how long I stayed like that, but when I finally stood up again, the shadows were a lot smaller than they'd been, and I realized I needed to find some shade before the hottest part of the day—mid-afternoon. Instinct and years of desert living began to kick in. The collar of my shirt was soaked with sweat, so I pulled it off and wiped my neck down before fashioning a haphazard turban out of the bright purple uniform. My black shorts, bra, and socks were fairly coated in the yellow sand, but at least the socks were moisture-wicking material, which saved me the added discomfort of sweaty feet. Eww.

Before starting, I pressed my thumb into my skin, letting out a small breath of relief when it didn't pale at all and bounced back easily. I was thirsty, but I had some time before I dehydrated completely and needed hospitalization. Even so, I really wished I had my Camelbak and two liters of rubber-tasting water with me. But I set out anyway, heading northeast and hoping desperately that it was the right way to go. I figured north was a good bet, but I since I had absolutely no idea where I was, so it probably didn't matter much.

As I walked, I was thankful for my dad's Indian skin tone. If I'd gotten my mother's paler complexion, the sunburn I was getting would have hurt a whole lot more that it was going to. Every once in a while, a blast of hot wind would whip some sand off a dune and fling it into my face, but I just brushed it off and kept walking, trying to ignore the climbing sun and my building thirst.

When the sun reached its peak, I sat down and used my shirt as a towel again. I was absolutely filthy—covered in sand and sweat—and I really wanted to be at home. Swallowing thickly, I pressed my arm again. My skin didn't bounce back so readily this time, and my thumbprint stayed rather pale for a good portion of a minute. I leaned my head back and willed myself not to cry, but a few tears squeezed out in spite of my efforts. I took a few steadying breaths and stood again, tucking the shirt into the back of my shorts. This time, when I scanned the horizon, I saw something that at least told me I could survive the afternoon heat.

A few hundred yards away, a tall dune curved over at the top, making a small hollow bowl at that base. It faced east, which meant it would give me shelter from the sun as it began to set in the west. I trudged over as quickly as I could, slipping in the sand a bit as I went, and sank down gratefully in the curve. Now that my body was resting completely, I could feel my muscles start to give out. My head was pounding, a combination of the heat, exhaustion, and its meeting Goliath-girl's elbow. Before I completely collapsed, I put down my shirt, for once thankful that it was a lot bigger than it needed to be, and curled up on top. My eyes slid shut like they were weighted with lead.

I think I must have been running a fever by the time I finally lay down, because when I slept, my dreams were just plain strange. My mother's face loomed over me, whispering my name as a fountain of water poured from her mouth. I tried catching some in my own, but by the time it should have reached me, the water was just sand. I guess that part wasn't so odd, seeing as I was missing both my mother and water pretty heartily at the time, but when her green eyes clouded over and became brown, it got weird. I could see her face, but she wasn't saying my name anymore. She stood on an ornate balcony, wearing some kind of black wig where her brown hair should have been. The balcony was odd, too I realized, and pretty soon I was wondering why I was dreaming my mother into ancient Egypt. Her eyes were kohl-lined and distant, gazing out at what I guessed was the Nile. I patted myself on the back at my thorough imagination. I could even hear shouts coming from the river, and they were most definitely not English.

Then the view shifted, and her eyes were green again, her hair curly like it should have been. But her clothes were odd, and the tall man with the brown hair who was kissing her neck was _definitely_ not my father. I tried to find something else to look at, and noticed a man who looked a lot like my uncle Andrew. He was talking to an Arabic guy dressed all in black, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. The Arab was petting a hawk on the back absently and nodding at whatever nonsense it was that Uncle Andrew was saying. I felt kind of uneasy looking at him. The tattoos on his face might have made me and my friends laugh if we'd seen them on some skinhead at the park, but on this guy they just looked menacing. The only other person I could see was a black guy standing behind them all, his hands on a ship's wheel. He was alternating between listening to Uncle Andrew and scanning the horizon. He looked nice enough, and I was wondering whether I could actually talk to any of them when the vision faded into darkness. I guess it was so weird because it had seemed so normal. Either of those images could have happened (aside from my mother and uncle being in them), but they'd just come as dreams. Usually my dreams are more whacked than Dumbo's pink elephants. I also tend to remember them, but when I jerked awake, these slipped away like sand.

Of course, that might have had something to do with what it was that woke me up in the first place.

When I opened my eyes, the sun was rapidly sinking behind the horizon. My headache had subsided a bit, but my mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and my throat screamed for water. I could barely sit up, so I just rolled over a bit, right onto the sand that I had avoided by sleeping on my shirt. Cursing softly, I started to push myself up, but stopped when I heard the sound of a horse snorting behind be. I held still for a moment, hoping that whoever was on the horse was friendly, then turned around slowly.

The horse snorted again, sticking its black face right up against my hair and nibbling at it curiously. This seemed like a good sign until the rider jerked the horse's head back sharply. I felt a little bad for it—it had only been seeing whom I was. But I couldn't feel bad for the animal for long, because the rider barked a sudden question at me in a language I'd never heard before. It was almost lucky that I was so dehydrated—otherwise, I'm sure I'd have wet myself, which wouldn't have been pleasant even if the scary dude on the horse weren't there.

I looked up, but his face was hard to make out in the dark. Even so, I got the impression the man on the horse wasn't someone who liked to be messed with. At the same time, I realized that I was still sitting on my shirt, which meant he was looking directly down at my… well, suffice to say, my face flamed up when I realized it. I tried to reach for my shirt discreetly, but another sharp command made me jerk my hand back. Every movement felt slow and sluggish, like I was dragging myself through molasses. I gave up trying to see the man's face and slumped forward, starting to fall asleep again, in spite of my fear. The only thing keeping me awake was the constant cool breeze that had started up as soon as the sun started setting. The sweat on my back and arms was cooling too quickly for comfort, and I shuddered dully.

The sound of boots crunching through sand gave me the energy to look up. The man knelt down in front of me and tilted my face up. His hands were rough and callused, wrapped in the same black cloth as his clothes. My eyes were drooping, but I studied him almost as intently as he studied me. Black tattoos, like hieroglyphics, adorned his cheeks and forehead. His eyes, in the dying light, flared once before deepening to black. I felt a shiver crawl up my spine that had nothing to do with the cold, but when he spoke next, his voice was soft and questioning.

I still had no idea what he was saying, so I tried to speak past the dryness in my mouth, "I'm sorry," I rasped, only it sounded more like I was gasping for breath than saying anything. I couldn't say any more, and I toppled over completely when he stood suddenly. I watched, disinterested, as his boots went over to the horse's hooves and came back again. My eyes slipped shut just before I felt his hands on my shoulders, but they snapped open when the most beautiful sound I had ever heard reached my ears.

"Here," he said, in slightly accented English, "Drink slowly."

He tipped a small amount of water into my mouth and waited until I'd swallowed completely before giving me a little more. I think I was crying with relief. Whoever this guy was, he seemed to want me alive, which was good enough for me. After several more small mouthfuls, I felt good enough to speak.

"Thank you," I said softly. Now that I'd had enough to drink, I was just interested in curling up and going to sleep again.

But Scary Dude (who'd turned out to be not so scary) seemed to have other ideas, and shook my shoulders gently, "You can't sleep yet," he said, "Tell me where your camp is—were your people attacked?"

I shook my head tiredly, "Don' got no people," I mumbled, "No camp, neither. Just showed up, after Goliath hit me." I really was very tired, and the sand felt so comfortable and soft…

"You are traveling alone?" he sounded confused. I was confused, too, but sleep seemed like a lot more fun than answering a bunch of inane questions. I nodded, but didn't speak. I think he thought I was about to go to sleep again, because he shook my shoulders for the second time that night.

"What?" I asked irritably.

"You had no horse, no water, no rations?"

"I didn't have anything, 'cept my clothes."

"Were you trying to kill yourself?"

I sat up a little straighter at that, "No!" I may have been a little down since we lost the championship game, but I certainly wasn't depressed, let alone suicidal.

"Then what could have possessed you to come out into the desert with nothing?"

"Wasn't my choice," I was starting to get a little annoyed with Scary Dude, even if I was eternally grateful to him for bringing me water. My body was crying out for sleep, and he was getting in its way.

Fortunately, he seemed to accept this answer, "I cannot leave you here alone," he said to himself, standing. I don't think he noticed at first when I slumped back to the ground and wrapped my shirt around myself like a blanket. It's fair enough, I suppose. I didn't notice when he picked me up and put me on his horse.


	2. Salwar Kameez

**A/N:** Hey guys! I now have a definite direction for this story—it may or may not change, but I know where I'm going. It may be more action/adventure than humor, but I hope it stays a little funny. This is set about five years after TMR, which makes Alex about thirteen (I think). Let me know if I've gotten it wrong.

I also wanted to say thanks to my first two reviewers:

Tizronell: Thank you for being my first reviewer! And several boxes of virtual cookies for adding me story to your faves.

Brunette: Well… does a little happy dance you're reading my story! I'm glad you like her. Hopefully she keeps on living up to your expectations. I'm crossing my fingers that the time travel thing doesn't turn too cliché, so let me know what you think.

**Disclaimer:** Right, so I don't own any characters you recognize (and you may be surprised—not everything is as it seems…) All the rest are mine! Back! Back, I say!

**Salwar Kameez**

A cold wind brushed my face, prickling my scalp and pulling me awake. I felt a gentle rocking motion and something warm and comfortable against my back. Leaving my eyes shut, I tried to sit up, but then realized that I already was sitting. I opened an eye and glanced up at the sky. My mouth fell open at the wash of stars above me. I was used to seeing the stars, because my hometown isn't exactly the biggest place in the U.S., but this was something else. It also served as a powerful reminder that I had no idea where I was—and that I really shouldn't have been moving inexplicably.

I was lucky that Scary Dude had good reflexes, because when I jerked completely awake, I nearly toppled off his horse. He shot out an arm and wrapped it around my waist until I was settled again.

"Why am I on a horse?" I asked thickly, trying not to let the fear trickle into my voice. I didn't mind horses in general—I'd volunteered at a stable one summer and enjoyed it immensely—but riding them was a whole different matter. I didn't like the height, the constant motion, and the feeling that the horse wasn't actually in my control. That was why I liked hiking; I had absolute control over where I went, and there wasn't any chance that my feet would suddenly decide that they were thirsty and walk right off a cliff.

Scary Dude kept his voice calm, and I guessed he could feel me trembling, "Do not worry," he said softly, "I will not let you fall."

Not that I didn't trust him, but he hadn't answered my question, "Uh, okay. But why am I on a horse?" an edge crept into my voice.

"I could not leave you alone in the desert," he explained, "And I had no other means of bringing you with me."

I closed my eyes and swallowed, trying not to picture myself tumbling into the sand. I'd had enough of that earlier in the day. Instead, I tried to hunch over so that I wasn't obstructing Scary Dude's view. When he pulled me back upright, I couldn't help but let out a small yelp of surprise, and he dropped my arm like a hot potato.

"I apologize," he said quickly, "I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you had fallen asleep again."

"'S okay," I mumbled, slipping back into a semi-conscious state. It was easier to focus on Scary Dude's warmth when I wasn't fully awake. But then a thought started niggling at my brain, and I began talking again, "Hey, uh, Scary Dude?" Crap. I hadn't meant to call him that. Even though I couldn't see his face, I could tell he was surprised by the way I'd addressed him, because I felt his muscles tense against my back, once again reminding me of my rather awkward position. He answered me anyway.

"Yes?"

"What's your name?"

"I am called Hatim."

"Oh." I wasn't quite sure what else to say, so the first thing that popped into my head came out of my mouth, too, "Does it mean anything?"

He thought for a second before answering, "I believe the English would be "Determined One,'" he paused, "And you?"

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about my name, "Cally," I said, "You can call me Cal."

"Is that not a man's name?"

"Yeah, probably," I shrugged. It was better than my full name, though, which sounded like someone had tripped into a library of mythology.

He didn't say anything else after that. I tried not to move too much, but I'd been riding a horse in my sleep for quite a few hours, and it wasn't treating my tired body well. Even though my back was warm (I felt a small blush spread across my cheeks when I thought about the reason for this), my face was raw and wind-whipped. Hatim had wrapped a horse blanket, which smelled as though it hadn't been washed in years, over my shirt. I figured I didn't smell much better than the blanket, and probably looked worse. But this stranger, who'd come out of nowhere, had picked me up and given me water and let me sleep without fear. I thought back to our conversation when I'd been barely conscious from heat and thirst. He'd suddenly accepted the fact that I'd just appeared in the desert without food or water or even proper clothes… it was odd, to say the least.

"The sun will be rising soon," Hatim said, pulling me from my thoughts.

I glanced around and realized that the black blanket of the sky was looking a little paler, more navy blue now, "Does that mean we'll stop?"

I felt something soft tickle the back of my neck and shivered slightly—he'd been shaking his head, but stopped when he realized that I couldn't see him, "No," he sounded tired, I realized. I wondered how long he'd been riding, and where he was riding to, and whether or not he'd just leave me at some oasis on the way, "We will ride until midmorning," he paused, "By then, we should reach a suitable place to stop."

"What's suitable?"

"We won't be stopping in the shade of a sand dune, if you are worried."

I couldn't help it—the combination of my frazzled nerves, little sleep, and current position made his comment seem uproarious. I think he was a little offended that I was laughing, but with everything else so screwed up, it felt pretty good to laugh for a moment or two. When I'd calmed down a bit, I coughed slightly and tried to turn to look at him, "Sorry," I muttered, "I'm a little crazy right now."

"It is all right," he said, a little stiffly. I felt bad. I hadn't meant to do that—I'd probably alienated my only hope for survival in this desert, whichever one it was. I stopped at that thought, and nearly smacked myself. Why hadn't I asked earlier?

"Hatim?" I said softly.

"Yes."

"Where are we?"

"The Great Desert," he said, "The Sahara."

Even though I'd suspected something of the sort when I first ended up there, hearing Hatim say it aloud was a shock to my system. I swallowed dryly and slumped into him. I felt him tense in surprise, but right then, I really couldn't move. It was like my strings had been cut and the puppet master walked away. Something tight and heavy settled over my stomach, building in strength until it came out in a low sob.

Hatim pulled the horse's reins gently, bringing it to a stop. "We can stop here for a while, if you like," he said.

I didn't have the strength to answer, so I just shook my head.

"All right," he clicked his tongue and the horse started walking again. Neither of us said a word as the sun made the world rosy. At some point, Hatim made me take a sip of water, but I drifted into sleep again not long after. I didn't wake up until I felt a hand take my arm and shake me. I coughed and sat straight again, shedding the blanket, which had grown uncomfortably hot.

"We are here," Hatim said.

Here was small, much smaller than I'd expected an oasis to be, but it was beautiful all the same. My color-starved eyes drank in the bright green of the palm trees and the clear blue of the small pool that stood at the center of the little oasis. A sunken grotto of gray rock was what kept the water from evaporating. For a moment, all I could think about was running at full speed into that little pool, but then I felt Hatim stand in the stirrups, and watched in frank amazement when he leapt to the ground. He bounced on his toes slightly and shook out his legs, then glanced expectantly up at me. I shook off my shock enough to realize that I no longer had him at my back to keep me steady. Suddenly, the horse seemed a lot higher off the ground than it had a moment before. I gulped a little and looked down at Hatim.

"Swing your leg over the side," he instructed. I just gave him a "well, duh," sort of look and did as he said, swaying a bit. In one swift movement, he picked me up off the horse and set me on the ground, holding me steady for a moment. I was going to ask him why he'd held on for so long when he let me go—and my legs collapsed from under me.

"Ow," I said softly as he helped me up again, "Why didn't you tell me that would happen?"

"It often happens when one has been riding for a very long time," he said. I raised an eyebrow and looked at him. Not only was he still standing ramrod straight, he'd had the strength to lift me bodily off a horse. I'm not a tall girl, but I've got some muscle on me, and my mother's curvy figure.

"It didn't happen to you," I pointed out, shaking slightly, but now able to stand without keeping a vice-grip on his arm.

"I am used to long rides," he said simply, then took the horse by the reins and led it to the little pool. I followed, pulling off my shoes as I did so, and glanced at him in question.

"Can I go in?" I asked.

Hatim looked from my shoes to my sweaty shirt to my face and nodded as a slight smile touched his lips.

"Hell yes," without further ado, I peeled off my socks and shirt and dumped them in an unceremonious pile on the sand. When I dove in, the water felt so good I doubted whether I would ever be able to leave. I paddled around a bit and pulled my hair out of its braid, kicking back and forth across the small pool. After a few more submersions, my hair and skin didn't feel so disgusting anymore. Now the only thing I really needed was toothbrush. At that thought, my stomach rumbled slightly, and I realized that it had been an entire day since I'd last eaten. My exhaustion and thirst had been at the forefront of my mind, so I hadn't even thought of food until I started swimming. I felt lightheaded all of a sudden, and my stomach growled again. Shaking my head, I swam back to the sandy shore.

Hatim was fiddling with the saddlebag on the horse when I walked over. "Are you gonna go in?" I asked, to get his attention. He just shook his head and didn't look at me; he seemed to be focusing very intently on the bag. "Hatim?" I ventured, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled, finally managing to loosen the strap he was getting at and yanking the bag down with a bit too much force. The horse stumbled to the side and whinnied at him in annoyance.

I raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, okay… anyway, do you know where I can get something to eat?" I looked hopefully at him, trying to see whether he'd raise his face. All I got was a curt nod as he bent over the bag. I leaned over his shoulder to see what he was trying to get at, and he jerked up suddenly, sending me flying backwards.

"Hey!" I shouted, standing quickly, "What was that all about?" he'd hit my collarbone, and it hurt a lot. I was starting to get angry with him, even though he probably hadn't meant to do it. That's one of my more major problems—I've got a redhead's temper. My mom says it's a Napoleon complex, which is why I work so hard at soccer, but I just think that she had a really boisterous Irishman in her background, and he passed his nature onto me.

Hatim turned and looked at me. His face was calm, but his dark eyes were fiery, "Please," he said, voice even in that way that betrays anger underneath, "Put this on."

I stepped back a little, glancing at the tan shirt and pants he held out. They were long, loose, and cotton, a bit like the salwar kameez my dad sometimes made me wear to go visit his side of the family. A sudden thought struck me, one that hadn't occurred to me before. I might have laughed if he hadn't looked so damned serious—Scary Dude making a comeback.

"If you're uncomfortable with how I'm dressed," I told him, "You just had to say so," I reached out and took the salwar kameez from him, "I'm just used to people dressing like they do in America. Sorry." I made myself disappear behind some of the trees and pulled off my shorts to change. The tunic was way too long, but it covered the pants, which hung a little too low on my hips. Sighing, I pulled my hair put of my shirt and walked back over to where Hatim sat fiddling with his bag again. He looked up as I sat down, and I could see a red flush under his tattoos. Silently, he pulled a small cloth sack from the handed it to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Dates." He opened it and showed me the little dried fruits inside. I smiled happily. I'd gotten into the habit of eating raisins, dates, figs, and currants a little while before games—good carbs and high calories to carry me through.

I took a few from the bag and stretched out on the sand, eating slowly so I wouldn't hurt my stomach. Hatim was still silent, but he had lost the quiet anger that had been brewing earlier. Even so, the silence was awkward. Typical me, I had to say something to fill it up.

"What are your tattoos of?" I asked, popping another date in my mouth. It had to be the best meal I'd eaten in a long time.

He chewed and swallowed slowly, then turned his gaze to me, "They are symbols of status in my tribe," he gestured to the line of hieroglyphs across his forehead, "These are to give me power and strength in battle," he pointed to the two on his cheeks, which looked like lightning bolts striking a bowl, "My brother has two like them, to show that we are related."

"What, you don't look enough alike?" I asked. It seemed pretty funny to me, but I had no idea what his tribe was like, so I couldn't be sure.

His face darkened a little, "If my brother should ever… eh, lose his head in battle, these identify me as his successor."

"Whoa. That's morbid," I shuddered, "Sorry I asked."

He smiled slightly, "It is part of life," he said, "We are all subject to Allah's will."

Ah, so here came the religious bit. No wonder he'd been so uptight about my outfit—women were usually covered from head to toe where he came from. My mom had converted to Hinduism when she married my dad, and that's just how I'd been raised. A little Ganesh sat on my dresser, smiling benevolently at me from under his trunk. The standard dress was a little more… lax than in Islam. Although, apparently, both Muslims and Hindus wore salwar kameez.

"So," I began to change the subject, meaning to ask him why his tribe would ever have to go to battle, when he stood suddenly and stared out at the horizon.

"Come," he said, turning to me, "We must go now."

"What? Why?"

He tied off the bag quickly and reattached it to the saddle. He moved with such a purpose that I quickly copied him, pulling my hair into a bun and yanking on my shoes. By the time I'd rolled my shirt and shorts onto a manageable ball, he was on the horse already, reaching a hand down to me. I hesitated, not wanting to get onto the animal again. I shook my head, "No, I'll just walk."

"There is no time for that!" he snapped, looking back at the horizon again. I followed his gaze to a group of men on horseback, riding quickly to the oasis. "Hurry!"

"Who are they?" I asked shakily.

"Raiders. If we do not leave now, we will be forced to fight them."

My eyes widened, "Fight?"

"Cally, now!" I grabbed his hand and jumped as he pulled me up behind him. "Hold on," he said, then spurred the horse violently forward, going the opposite direction of the raiders. I squeezed my eyes shut and wrapped my arms around his waist as tightly as I could. Suddenly, he pulled the horse to a stop, unwrapped my arms, and jumped from the horse. I started hyperventilating, my breath coming out in short, sharp bursts. The ride, and now Hatim's sudden jump, left me scared—so scared that I was finding it hard to concentrate on the fact that he was trying to help me calm down.

"Hush, Cal," he said, "Come."

I gave a small gasp and toppled off the horse. He caught me and held me still to keep me from falling. Soon, my breathing slowed and calmed enough that he didn't seem to mind letting me go. I sat shaking on the sand for a moment before bursting into tears.

"Please, do not cry," he sounded afraid, "You will be all right."

"I… I'm s-sorry," I choked on the words a little.

"Don't be."

I closed my eyes and leaned back, letting the sun dry my tears. When I felt Hatim move beside me, I looked up at him, "Hey, wait… why'd we stop? What's wrong?"

"The water skin is still by the oasis," he said.

I sat up and stared at him, "What?!"

"I am sorry," he sounded really ashamed, "I have not made a mistake like this before…"

"Where… were you taking me?" I asked.

"To my brother's encampment. His friend Evelyn would be able to help you find your way home."

"How far is it?" it's strange, how clearly I was thinking. I guess the adrenaline was making my mind run on overdrive, but I was mapping out all of our options at a lightning speed.

"A half-day's hard ride to the northeast," he pointed in the direction of the sun and looked back at me, "It is not wise to ride into the desert without water."

"I survived yesterday," I pointed out.

"Which is why you should not go without water today," he stood and pulled something from the saddlebag. I craned my head to see it properly, but he turned away, "It was my fault—I shall go back and get it for you."

"But you said those guys were dangerous, what if…"

"They would not dare attack an armed Medjai," he said.

"An armed what?"

He looked back down at me as he got onto the horse, "A Medjai. My tribe," he explained. I nodded, still not getting why these raiders wouldn't attack him.

But then I saw the scabbard hanging from his waist, and I took a step back, "You weren't kidding," I said. He was Scary Guy again, with the Scary cranked up.

"Stay here. Don't try to follow me—if they don't like you, they will kill you. If they do…" he trailed off with a pained expression. I didn't need him to finish his sentence. Either way, staying camped out by the dune seemed like a good idea to me.

He spun the horse and began riding back to the oasis, taking a slightly different path from before, and left me alone with my sorry bundle of wet clothes.

**A/N**: So, we have names and some connections to Sommers's characters, but Cal still doesn't know that she's more than half a century before she was born. I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to write that scene… anyways, next chapter, we meet several characters from the movie, and there is DRAMA! It won't be very funny, but there'll be lotsa action.


	3. SunBaked and Bloody

**A/N:** Well, I can't say I didn't warn you about the shoddy updating. I managed to go th whole summer without finishing this chapter, and now that school's starting, I can pretty much guarantee that I'll have a flood of ideas and no time to write. I hope you actually remember what this story is about by the time I finish it.

Thanks for being my sole reviewer on the last chapter Tic-Tac. It's nice to know someone was actually paying attention.

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, well, everybody is still mine, so you'll just have to read the next chapter (whenever the hell it appears) to see some familiar faces.

**Sun-Baked and Bloody**

As I sat there, clutching my clothes and feeling the last of the water evaporate from my hair, I started to wonder about how things had come to be this way. None of it made any sense, really, if I actually thought about it. Somehow, after being knocked out by a girl who was probably on steroids and definitely didn't belong on a high-school soccer team, I'd ended up in a remote part of the Sahara, but I'd still managed to run into a very nice desert-guy who seemed to want to help me. Now, said desert guy had pulled out a sword (wherever the hell that had come from) and run off to get back the water that he'd left for the not-so-nice desert guys who would, if given the chance, bring me to a very nasty end. So I wondered. I wondered why it had been the nice guy and not the nasty ones who'd found me. I wondered why he'd been so willing to help me, even though I had no real excuse for being stranded, half-naked, in the middle of the desert. Most of all, though, I wondered how in God's name I would ever get back home.

I bit my lip while I thought, studying my hands. I had a callus or two from when I'd tried weight lifting during an off-season, and some chipped pearl nail polish. The faint outline of vines twined around my fingers and down my hands, branching out from the Ohm symbol in the palms of both—the last vestiges of an Indian wedding a few weeks earlier. Even so, the most noticeable thing was the long, thin scar that roped from my right ring finger to the inside of my elbow. It was the remnant of a freak bicycle accident—namely, I'm a freak who can't ride a bike. It's amazing what the world looks like when you're flipping over your front handlebars on a steep gravel hill. That might have been one of the reasons I was reluctant to surrender my control to a horse—when I can't even trust myself not to kill myself, I don't think it's wise to put that trust into a strange animal that I've never met. It's just good sense.

Standing, I shook my head and stared over at the oasis. The tops of the palm trees stood out a bit from the dunes, but that was all I could see. The hurried ride away had shaken my sense of distance (not that I'd had much of one to start with) and I wasn't quite sure how far I was from the watering hole. Even more so, I had no idea how much time had passed since Hatim had left me there. A small seed of doubt began to grow in my mind. What if he didn't come back? What if these raiders weren't afraid of him because he was a… what was it? I put a hand up to my forehead, trying to see Hatim, but there was no sign of him other than the long trail of hoof prints leading off into the distance. Dropping my clothes, I started gnawing at my nails again, even though there was barely anything left to chew.

I was still standing like that when I heard it—a crack so loud it made me jump out of my skin. Shaking, I scrambled further up the dune to try and get a better look at the oasis. A few enraged shouts reached my ears, followed by another horrible crack, but they were soon silenced. For a few minutes, I didn't hear anything else. I scanned the horizon nervously, hopping from foot to foot. Finally, I saw something—a black figure emerging from the edge of the oasis.

Right then, I had no idea whether it was Hatim or not. But it certainly looked like him—sitting tall on a black horse and riding steadily to where he'd left me. I grabbed up my clothes and slunk back a bit behind the dune. The rider's image wavered in the heat as he approached… then I realized that it wasn't the image that was wavering. I shot up as quickly as I could, just in time to see Hatim fall completely off his horse.

"Hatim!" I shouted, tripping through the sand to get to him. When I got to his side, his horse watched me placidly from the corner of its brown eye, but he smiled up at me.

"I have the water," he told me triumphantly, holding up the skin.

I just stared at him incredulously, "What happened?"

"They were not smart enough to let me go my way," he said simply, then started to sit up. I reached for his shoulders when he hissed in pain, but he shoved my hands away, "I am fine," he said stubbornly.

"Yeah, and monkeys'll fly outta my butt." I ignored his confused stare, grabbing the water from him before it fell, "Where did they hurt you?"

He shook his head, "It is nothing."

"You fell off your horse," I said flatly.

"I lost my balance."

"Shut up and sit up," he couldn't do it on his own, I pulled him upright, much to his displeasure. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, started coughing violently. I grabbed his shoulders, "Where?"

Silently, he lifted his right arm.

"Holy crap."

The black cloth was soaked through, from just under his shoulder to his waist. Trying not to choke, I picked at it until I found the bullet hole. It was pretty small, for the amount of blood that was coming from it, but it was a deep, horrible red.

"You… you said we were how far from your brother's camp?"

Hatim was starting look pale, but he managed to answer me clearly enough, "Six hours away, riding hard."

My stomach churned uncomfortably at that. Hatim had been shot—he needed a doctor ASAP—and I certainly didn't fit the bill. "Is there anything closer?"

He shook his head tiredly. I sat back and looked up at the horse, which was still watching me silently.

"Okay," I breathed, trying to calm my nerves. Once again, my mind felt strangely clear, but my fingers were twitching madly. I wished I had a soccer ball and a really pissed off goalie.

Hatim mumbled something.

"What?"

"I need a tourniquet." He wasn't wasting any breath on extra words. For a moment, I was at a loss for what to do, then I realized that I could use my shirt. Unraveling it from its bundle, I tied it as securely as I could around his shoulder. He nodded tiredly, "There is rope in the right saddlebag." I nodded slowly, not seeing what he was getting at. "Take it out," he instructed quietly. It took me a minute, but I found the thick, twine-like stuff that he was talking about.

"Help me onto the horse."

Still feeling nauseous, I grabbed his un-shot arm, pulled him up, and allowed him to use my shoulder to get onto the horse. He slumped forward a bit, looking paler than ever, and spoke into the horse's mane.

I leaned forward for him to repeat it. "Bind my wrists around her neck," he said.

I gaped at him, "Wha…" I began, but stopped myself when I saw the hard look in his eyes, "All right. Just… give me a sec, okay?"

Hatim just held his arms out. Reluctantly, I looped the rope around his wrists, tying them as loosely as possible.

"Cally." His voice was hoarse and he didn't say anything else. I grimaced, undoing my poor knot and retying it, tighter this time. Then, after a second thought, I took the long ends and threaded them into the harness.

Hatim watched me as I did it. When I finished, I looked up at him, "Just in case," I said softly.

"It is good."

I swallowed thickly, "All right," I pulled the reins forward, "Which way?"

He pointed back over to the oasis and I stared at him in horror. He must have noticed, because he smiled tiredly at me, "You have nothing to fear. They cannot hurt you," he paused, "Not now."

I wasn't sure if I really wanted to know how that had happened, but I figured that I was going to find out anyway. "A… are they dead?"

In spite of his obvious pain, Hatim's dark eyes glittered ironically, "You do not need to look at them as we pass."

I didn't look. I've seen enough movies where the characters get paralyzed with fear whenever they look. Unfortunately, a falcon chose that moment to soar through the palms and land on Hatim's shoulder. I would have paid attention to it, except its path had taken it directly over the bodies of the raiders strewn across the sand. I felt bile rising in the back of my throat. Several were missing their heads.

"Cally." I couldn't look at him. His voice was a little slurred and he didn't sound like he was really sure of what he was saying. "Cally," he said again, and this time, the falcon added a sharp call that yanked me around. I was shaking, in spite of the baking heat and the sweat rolling down my back. "Aras will lead you," he lifted his shoulder, making the falcon flutter its wings a bit, "Follow him. Do not look back." His eyes were a little unfocused, like he was staring right through me.

I didn't answer, unsure whether I could actually speak and still keep the tremor out of my voice. But I did as he said and watched which way the falcon—Aras—went. I slung the water over my shoulder and took the horse's reigns. It was going to be a long day.

Hatim, although he tried not to, fell completely unconscious within the hour. I tried to wake him up to drink something as often as possible, but soon I couldn't even wake him up anymore. At least I had the falcon to follow.

Every once in a while, it would disappear from my sight and I would jog up a dune, towing the reluctant horse, only to find Aras waiting for me patiently. I stopped doing this after the third time, realizing that if I continued drinking the water at that pace, there would be none left whenever Hatim actually did wake up.

For some reason, it seemed harder this time—you know, wandering blindly through the desert. Even though I now had water and directions (granted, the latter came from a bird, but you take what you can get), I felt more lost than ever. Maybe it was because the salwar khameez was hotter then my soccer jersey. Maybe it was because I was relying on a pair of animals to lead me to my last hope of getting home. Maybe it was because I was leading the murderer who'd saved my life to that same place. Or maybe I was just being an ungrateful prat.

Even though I did my best, the water was nearly halfway gone before it was mid afternoon. The salwar khameez was stiff with dry sweat and my legs felt like they were about to collapse from under me. Shaking with exhaustion, I dropped to the ground. The horse knelt next to me and stared at me again, and Aras fluttered back into view from behind the sand dune over which he'd just disappeared. When he landed on Hatim's shoulder, he jerked awake so quickly I jumped.

"Why aren't you on the horse?" he asked, voice harsh as grating sand.

I stared at him like he'd grown a second head, "I can barely stay on with you holding me. I'd fall off, what with you being all unconscious and everything."

He blinked at me for a second, then turned to the falcon as if seeing him for the first time, "Aras?" he whispered.

I nodded, answering for the bird, "Yeah. You told me to follow it, remember?"

Hatim groaned and I sat up, scared that he was in more pain, but he looked more frustrated than hurt when I saw his face. "I am an idiot," he grimaced, "And my brother will have my head for it."

"What?" I asked, feeling the weight of the last two days come down on me.

Hatim ignored me as he fumbled in one of the saddlebags and smiled as he pulled out a long, pointy stick and a black inkwell. Aras hopped over and stuck out his leg obligingly. As I watched, Hatim wrote a quick phrase on a thin scroll of paper and rolled it carefully into a small carrying case attached to the bird's leg that I hadn't noticed before. Then he lifted his arm, forcing the falcon to take flight. It dwindled to a black dot in the sky and then disappeared entirely.

Hatim dismounted slowly and knelt by me. I blinked up at him, trying to fight the deep, bone-tired that had seeped through me very suddenly. "What?" I asked again.

"You can rest now," when he sat down, I could see that he was moving around the injury, and I wondered how he'd managed to pull himself out of that sleep. For a while there, it had seemed like he was dead.

"Okay," I nodded and then slumped against the dune.

Hatim, now full of energy, hopped up and started pacing the area around the horse and I. "You should rest now. You've been walking in the heat of the day… help will be here soon."

I wasn't in much of a position to argue, but the heat was making me irritable, "You're the one with the bullet in your shoulder," I reminded him.

He stood still, scanning the horizon, "I have known worse injuries."

I snorted a bit, "Yeah, and I've been running in heat as bad as this." Okay, so it wasn't completely true. But I was afraid that if I closed my eyes, he would disappear and I would realize that I'd spent a day and a half talking to myself.

Hatim turned his eyes to me, "Really, Cally—"

"Cal," I corrected.

"Cal," he conceded and continued, "You need the rest as much as I. Everything will be fine… you'll see."

Another wave of exhaustion washed over me, and I decided I could trust him at least one more time. If he suddenly decided to kill me in my sleep, well, I guess I'd learn my lesson.

When he shook me awake later, I decided trust wasn't the issue with this guy. It was communication.

Maybe it hadn't occurred to him to mention the fact that the men coming to collect us were like advanced versions of Scary Dude… and that they'd be royally pissed with him.


End file.
